Flux

spine at the familiarity of the situation; he hoped he wasn’t too late to prevent the premonition from fulfilling itself. He took a deep breath, ready to open his mouth before hesitating; with no idea as to what he was going to say, he didn’t want to appear insane and be carted off once again into custody.
    But I have to warn them, he thought.
    Why? You’re too small and insignificant to alter the inevitable. A voice of cold reason from within his own head. He looked around; Mothers led children by the hand, lovers strolled, gazing into each other’s eyes, teenagers laughed at private jokes. He opened his mouth to speak; at first his voice came quietly, lost in the babble of life and commerce. He cleared his throat before starting again, this time more loudly and with conviction.
    “Listen to me!” he bellowed. Nobody did. Then again, louder, “Listen!” One or two people glanced in his direction, instantly averting their gazes towards the ground. His beard was long and bushy, his clothes soiled and creased and above all, Iain’s eyes were those of a wild animal. It was no wonder that no one wanted to engage in conversation. Everyone had more important or interesting things to be doing.
    “The end of the world is coming!” You sound like a fucking lunatic. Shoppers were by this time crossing the street to avoid him, those that didn’t gave him a very wide berth. Regardless though, he continued. To say Iain was totally ignored would be a lie. Ghosts gathered around in a circle, silently watching, listening intently. They occupied the space left around Iain by the avoidance of shoppers; the living and the dead did not mix. At least he had an audience and it was to these Iain preached. Over on the other side of the street, perched on a bollard, was Bert. Not as attentive as the ghosts, he wore a wry smile on his face, sometimes chuckling or mumbling things to himself. Iain tried his best to ignore him.
    The ghosts parted. Blue uniforms walking towards him. Oh shit. Over their shoulders Bert made an O shape with his thumb and forefinger, moving his arm forwards and back. It was not the universal symbol for OK. Iain’s heart pounded in his chest, his hands felt clammy. What was I thinking? He thought to himself, fully expecting to be once again incarcerated.
    “I’m afraid you can’t do that there,” the first policeman said as he approached. Iain, unable to think of a response, simply stood and stared. Fortunately, in no small part owing to his state of hygiene and personal grooming, the police mistook Iain for a homeless drunk. “Come on, off you go. And don’t let me see you here again, or I’ll have to arrest you,” said the second policeman.
    A wave of relief washed over him. “Sorry, won’t do it again,” he mumbled as he hurriedly walked away, not giving the police chance to change their minds. The ghosts parted to let him past and Bert hopped from his perch.
    With a heavy heart and full of despondency, Iain went home.

Chapter Thirty
    Decisions, decisions.

    When Iain let himself into the flat, Bert was waiting on the sofa. “Well, that went well,” he said, smirking.
    Iain wanted nothing more than to wipe the smile from his face. “Oh, fuck off will you!”
    “Well that’s not very nice!” feigning insult.
    “It wasn’t supposed to be. What do you want anyway?”
    “All I want my boy, is what’s best for you.”
    “Bollocks! What do you know about what’s best for me?”
    “A lot more than you do.” He looked Iain straight in the eye: “Have you considered my offer?”
    “No.”
    “Is that no I haven’t thought about it, or no I don’t want to accept?”
    “Haven’t thought about it.”
    “You have until tomorrow morning!”
    “Or what?”
    “You’ll see.” With that, Bert got up and disappeared into the bathroom. Twenty minutes later and Iain, forced by a call of nature, went to check if he was still there. All that remained was the lingering scent of bloody faeces.

    Iain’s head was spinning once again. The destruction of mankind, Bert’s proposition and a way of possibly saving his own skin. What was with all the ghosts and what did the baby have to do with it all? Quickly, and at first unaware, he found himself again spiralling down into a pit of depression, anxiety and general self-sorrow. He rummaged about for the dope he knew he still had somewhere, eventually finding it in the near empty kitchen cupboard. Twisted logic told him that if he was down